


The Rush of Water

by randomalia (spilinski)



Series: There will be fireflies [1]
Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4225770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilinski/pseuds/randomalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when they're screwing around in his trailer on set, Colin doesn't forget where they are or what they're supposed to be doing, and so he has these stupid little rules for what Bradley can and can't do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rush of Water

Even when they're screwing around in his trailer on set, Colin doesn't forget where they are or what they're supposed to be doing, and so he has these stupid little rules for what Bradley can and can't do.

He's never said them outright, never explicit, but if Bradley does something he shouldn't, Colin will jerk his head back and say no, no; murmur it into Bradley's skin so Bradley will remember, and all of these fragments stick together in Bradley's head until they become a mosaic of the things he wants most.

Certain touching is out of bounds. Colin won't let Bradley grab his head, nor dig fingers along his scalp and make rivulets in his dark hair, not even if Colin's on his knees and Bradley can't reach anywhere else. It's too obvious, Bradley supposes, too likely to draw attention and so he's left holding the edge of the table, watching while Colin drags his lips off Bradley's dick like it's an ice-cream melting.

Colin won't let Bradley jerk him off in costume, either, nevermind if he's thick and hot in his trousers, nevermind if they've got five minutes out of a whole day and this is it, this is their one chance to touch and Bradley can feel the soft skin under his fingertips just thinking about it. He knows perfectly how Colin would fit, warm against his palm; now that he can't have it the absence is like hunger, a shortness of breath plucking at his lungs and making him dizzy.

(He knows he shouldn't but sometimes he gets a hand on Colin's stomach, a splay of fingers ready to slide down into Colin's pants, and Colin will suck in a quick breath and laugh a little and say no, no, while he takes his hips away, takes his body away, blushing while Bradley's fingers curl in on themselves.)

Most particularly, Colin won't let Bradley kiss him. Not on the mouth, not on the cheek, not anywhere the make-up will smear and be noticed. Colin won't let Bradley suck on his jaw, even the high point of his throat where Colin forgets to shave and it would be bristle-rough on Bradley's tongue, even though he likes it there more than anything.

Kissing never used to be so necessary. God, the taste of him, Bradley thinks, and after the first time Colin pulled away he spent whole weeks watching Colin and his stupid lips and his stupid neck, and remembering the one afternoon Bradley had pushed Colin against the wall of an empty corridor and sucked red bruises onto his jaw, kissed him there until Colin cried out and tugged Bradley's hair and said, _christ, your mouth, c'mere c'mere, love_ , words slipping out like water.

Bradley remembers how breathless he was, that afternoon, shaking at the knees for the want of it: Colin's wet mouth, Colin's fine hands, the sounds of Colin coming undone. He'd wanted to press so close there'd be no space between them, no mistaking anything. They'd gone outside after, fallen rain evaporating off the ground in mists of white around their ankles and Colin had said, _we probably shouldn't do that here_ , and Bradley tried to breathe normally and said, _yeah, probably right._

Sometimes Bradley forgets but Colin never does.


End file.
